


Act Well Your Part

by teprometo



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Consensual Infidelity, F/M, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:35:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teprometo/pseuds/teprometo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sir Leon had always wanted to be a knight, but in time, he learned that some things came before duty to his country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Act Well Your Part

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I never cared about Leon, I didn't like het, and I loathed fic with a rating below NC-17. And yet somehow I wrote this anyway because of reasons. It was [that Gwen/Leon series 5 promo picture](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mc9c91C48b1rttde4o1_1280.jpg) that started this whole mess.
> 
>  _Honour and shame from no condition rise;_  
>  _Act well your part, there all the honour lies._  
>  \- Alexander Pope, Essay on Man. Epistle iv. Line 193.

Leon had wanted to be a knight for as long as he could remember. His father had fought and died in the service of Camelot, her people, and her king. Standing in his mother’s firm grip before his father’s pyre, his bright red cape being swallowed by flames, Leon felt certainty settle in his young mind. This was an honourable death, heroic, and Leon took his mother’s hands and swore he’d protect lives like hers until his last breath.

And he did. He spent long hours training until his whole body ached, and then he did it again the next day and the next, never complaining, never giving less than his all. He was never as good with a sword as the young prince, who wielded a weapon like an extension of his own body, but he was committed. When the others would go to the tavern, Leon would read until his eyes hurt or help the merchants tear down their stands, because to truly serve Camelot, one must be knowledgable and available to the people.

Leon rarely allowed himself indulgences, even as a boy, believing selflessness to be a key tenet of honour, but when the fair Guinevere and her small, wide-eyed brother would knock lightly on his window every full moon, Leon escorted them to the forest, a dagger tucked safely in his boot. He carried Gwen’s bucket and never caught any frogs of his own, too distracted by the gentle bounce of Gwen’s hair and her bright, excited smile.

If Leon was ever in love, it would have been with Guinevere, her easy grace and selflessness, her worker’s hands and the warm scent of her. But Leon knew he could never have her in the way he wanted her, occupying his dinner table and caring for him in sickness. He was restricted to women from noble families, women with finely embroidered gowns and refined expressions who would fall ill during pregnancy and never fully recover. So instead of pursuing Gwen for the cheap pleasures he might have been granted, he let her go and refocussed himself on the task of being Camelot’s finest knight.

Leon was always unerringly loyal to Uther, then to Arthur. But loyalty and approval are sometimes different things, and Leon never fully approved of Arthur’s leadership. As second in command, Leon saw intimately the ways Arthur was an imprecise commander, a solo warrior driven by emotions who often failed to consider strategy and the value of fighting in formation.

Leon learned over time that the only sure way to reach Arthur, to change his mind or to calm him, was through Merlin. Leon studiously ignored their relationship as much as he could, because sometimes that level of intimacy was painful to witness. He knew, and he was sure the other knights did as well, that their relationship had always been atypical of master and servant, that Arthur made a space in his life where only Merlin fit.

And so while nothing ever surprised Leon in all his years in Camelot’s service, when Arthur saw fit to make Guinevere his queen, Leon was shocked. Gwen was of course worthy of Arthur’s love, worthy to be queen. He knew Gwen would make the finest queen Camelot had ever known, with her steady hand and warm heart. But she did not deserve to be the figurehead wife of a man who’d rather spend his time in the company of his manservant.

A year passed with no heir. Then two. Then three. The whispers in the lower town spoke of the barren peasant queen, but Leon knew better, and so did the others in Arthur’s privy counsel. Gwen wasn’t a barren queen; she was a maiden queen, a fact which made Leon’s insides roil with combatting outrage and desire.

Gwen had only become more striking as she’d aged. She’d grown into a woman’s body and into a leader’s mind. She was smart and pragmatic in all the ways Arthur had always been weak. She was self-possessed and certain, and Leon felt himself drawn irresistibly to her confident rule, her sure gait, and that familiar smile, the one that said she knew him.

When you've lived in the same place your entire life, it's hard to avoid knowing a little something about everyone you meet in town. In the regular service of his day, Leon encountered dozens of people he remembered from his adolescence—the pig farmer who’d seen his wife executed for sorcery, the textile merchant who was actually a whore, and the queen of Camelot, who had plucked up slimy frogs with her bare hands in the moonlight and dropped them in a bucket at Leon’s feet.

Leon supposed his simple life would never lend itself to complexity. He was getting older, and his looming mortality looked clearer every day. He would never find a wife or be a father. It was not honourable to invite affection when his days were so clearly numbered, even for all the comfort it may have provided him.

Beyond that, he felt it was his charge to always place the queen as his highest priority, something he could never do if he had someone waiting for him at home, someone to offer him warmth and adoration. He had always protected Guinevere, and he would do so now in the time of her greatest power and most profound loneliness. To sleep beside someone you know would rather share his heat with another sounded like the cruellest torture, and this, too, was a reason Leon never engaged with women outside of brothels. His heart and his duty lay elsewhere.

Forever, it had been country first, then king, then kin, but since Leon had been assigned as the queen’s escort, his priorities had shifted. It was easy to fall back into the steady role of her protector, and into the deep confusion in his own heart. Her fingers wrapped around his elbow made him think sometimes that she was his. As their heavy cloaks whispered over forest trails, Leon was certain he knew Gwen more intimately than anyone. She was vibrant and peaceful with him, spoke freely and leaned comfortably against his arm as she grew fatigued. There was nothing they could not say to one another, and nothing remained unsaid, save the acknowledgement of the fundamental thing that shifted and grew every time they were near one another. Leon knew, as sometimes people know these things, that Gwen was only ever fully herself when they were alone together. She was queen and servant both, a woman of immense trial and heartache who found safety in Leon’s attention, his singleminded devotion to her wellbeing.

Leaving Camelot became harder as his intimacy with Guinevere grew. Leaving her alone in the castle to follow the king on a mission felt negligent, as though the true battle was being lost as Gwen sat alone in her chambers.

Merlin disappeared one night while everyone slept after a hard day’s ride, their mission on the far outer ridge of the kingdom. Arthur ordered Leon to lead the knights and complete the mission while Arthur stayed behind to search for Merlin. Leon in turn ordered Gwaine to lead the men, unwilling to allow his king to roam off alone into a potential ambush.

They found Merlin not far off, bound and beaten in a camp of bandits likely seeking information on the king’s movements. Leon and Arthur cut them down easily, and Arthur, blind with rage, spared no one. The last words of their surprised leader: _a servant_. The fool. They’d have done better to take Leon himself. There were limits to Leon’s value to Camelot; Merlin’s value to Arthur was infinite.

When all the men were dead or dying, Arthur dropped his sword and fell to his knees at Merlin’s feet, pulled free all his bindings and felt his wounds, cradled him like something fragile. Their voices were low, private, their hands reaching beneath armour and fabric to find skin, just enough to feel each other’s warmth and remember what they still had.

After all these years and all their time together, there was still such raw intensity in the way Arthur and Merlin touched each other, in the way they protected each other. They were precious to each other in a way that physically ached for Leon, wanting something so rich for himself. Arthur helped Merlin to his feet and supported his weight, sometimes unable to tear his eyes away from Merlin’s face.

Not a month later, it was remembering this encounter, Arthur’s fingers steady across Merlin’s cheek, that made Leon pliant and easy for Gwen when finally she reached behind herself with deft fingers and uncinched her dress. He let it fall without protest, took in the new skin, each soft curve of her body as beautiful as the next, watched as she pulled away her undergarments, let her place his hands on her waist. When she leaned up to kiss him, he met her, tasting her finally, wrapping his arms around her and feeling something slot into place. He finally understood, fully, why men fought and died to protect their homes. It wasn’t honour; it was _this_. It was the feel of a person you adored, warm and full of desire for you, inviting you into themselves for the simple want of your presence.

Leon would never have predicted he’d commit high treason, but Guinevere’s head on his shoulder had become something he would fight to preserve. In time, Leon was certain that Arthur knew about them, but it changed nothing. Leon still had his head and his seat at the round table, still met with Gwen daily, and Arthur still had Merlin.

One winter, after fifteen years of servitude and loyalty and so much more, Merlin’s sorcery was exposed. He sobbed and begged Arthur’s forgiveness, and then that night, he was gone. Arthur waited a month for Merlin to return, and when he didn’t, Arthur went off alone to search for him, leaving Guinevere to rule the kingdom. His hand was firm on Leon’s shoulder when he ordered Leon to look after her.

The following months were full of strain and anxiety, each passing day making Arthur’s return less likely. But sharing warmth with Guinevere every night and taking meals with her three times a day was the greatest joy Leon had ever known. They were just growing calm in their new life with all its responsibilities and quiet happiness when Arthur came back with Merlin by his side.

The ban on magic was lifted, and Merlin was finally appointed the official role of Arthur’s advisor, as though he had ever been anything less. Things changed then within the castle, the last piece having fallen into place. It was something never spoken of, but within a week of Arthur’s return, a second royal chamber was decorated, and the king and queen never again shared a bed.

Guinevere’s child, when he came, bore the name Pendragon, and the people rejoiced, their faith in Camelot’s future stronger than ever before. Leon didn’t know that he would ever be able to explain to the boy how a simple knight became father to a prince. At the very least, their son would know himself loved and protected. His were four strong, unwavering parents, and an entire kingdom’s allegiance.

Gwen’s and Merlin’s laughter floated on the air to where Arthur and Leon were training the young prince in combat. Leon squinted in the direction of their voices and caught their shapes cresting the hill. In his moment of distraction, the prince took Leon’s legs out from under him. Wrestling the boy to the ground and tickling him until he surrendered, Leon was certain Albion’s future had never looked brighter.


End file.
